


It Ain't Luck

by scriptedsparrow



Category: League of Legends
Genre: .....so i wrote it, M/M, about a week or two after the events of burning tides, i wanted some soft and gentle moments when they were both vulnerable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriptedsparrow/pseuds/scriptedsparrow
Summary: "Just one thing: You ever have mind to leave me holding the bag again, I’ll blow your goddamn head off.  No questions.”The words Malcolm had once uttered, just weeks ago, still echo within the confines of Tobias’ mind.  It’s unlike him to be so hung over such an incident - mere words, at that - yet he sits at the table, absentmindedly shuffling through his deck.  Doing just that.  Malcolm, despite not having seen the other in years, still knows how the card sharp’s mind works.  (And he knows that a blank expression is hardly a good thing, especially when it comes to Tobias.)





	It Ain't Luck

"Just one thing: You ever have mind to leave me holding the bag again, I’ll blow your goddamn head off. No questions.”

The words Malcolm had once uttered, just weeks ago, still echo within the confines of Tobias’ mind. It’s unlike him to be so hung over such an incident - mere words, at that - yet he sits at the table, absentmindedly shuffling through his deck. Doing just that. Malcolm, despite not having seen the other in years, still knows how the card sharp’s mind works. (And he knows that a blank expression is hardly a good thing, especially when it comes to Tobias.)

Malcolm doesn’t know what to do, only thinks to draw the thief’s attention from whatever his thoughts were. He sets Destiny aside, gently propped up against the wall. With a grunt, the gunslinger moves, taking a seat across from the other at the table. He waits a moment to gaze outside, taking in nature’s magnificent work. The sky was akin to a canvas, streaks of reds and oranges painting a beautiful, cloudless evening.

“T.F.” He finally speaks.

The name earns only a grunt in response, though his head does tilt in the direction of the gunslinger. The shuffling of cards also comes to a halt - “You’ve got my attention,” in Tobias’ nonvocal language.

“How’s your hand? Let me see it.” Rotund fingers reach for the card sharp’s bandaged hand, a silent request for permission to check the wound.

Tobias answers with the offering of that hand, a clearing of the throat, and a soft, raspy voice. “It’s fine, yannow. ‘S hardly a cut - we’ve seen worse days, Malcolm.”

There’s a short sigh. Tobias was right - he always was - they’d definitely seen worse days. They’d leave home with weapons flawless, teeth bared and pearly white, only to return broken and battered, once pristine canines stained with the crimson of their blood. It was a miracle they’d returned this time with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises and weary bones, and in Tobias’ case, a deep cut in the palm.

“I know that,” Malcolm starts, fingers picking at the bandages that wrapped ‘round Tobias’ palm. He’s gentle, uncharacteristically so, as calloused fingers glife over the other’s thin hand. “I told you to run, T.F.”

“And I came back.”

“You nearly drowned.”

“Yer sayin’ ya wouldn’t’ve?”

“I’m saying...” He rubs a finger over the now-raised scab, applying an ounce of pressure, and earning a hiss in return. Malcolm hates how perfect Tobias’ hand fits within his own, how soft his hands are in contrast to his rough, ragged own. “I’m saying you’re a fucking idiot, T.F. I tried to kill you, and yet--”

“--Yet you told me t’ run. I’m tired of runnin’ from ya, Malcolm. Done it once, ended up losin’ ya for years. ‘F I did it last week, woulda lost ya f’rever.”

“Tobias,” there’s a silence that follows the address, only it’s welcomed this time. Malcolm was never one to have deep conversations - not now, likely not ever. He figured he could just put a round or two in whatever his problems were, seeing as they were individuals affiliated with the law, half the time.

Seemed like Lady Luck would not be on his side today.

Unsurprisingly, Tobias knows this well - he knows Malcolm isn’t particularly one that has a way with words, and continues, pulling his hand back to his chest, and rewrapping the wound. “You know I’m afraid o’ water, and I know you hate me. ‘S a one-fer-one, hotshot. Y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

“’Course, Tobias. ‘Cause only I can kill you,” Malcolm starts with a soft, almost bashful chuckle. Just weeks ago, he’d say that line with aggression dripping from words, pure fury laced within each vowel. But now, with truth fallen ‘pon understanding ears, he says it in jest. Though that’s not to say he doesn’t regret those actions from weeks ago. “Hey, Tobias,” and Malcolm’s hand reaches for one of Tobias’ once more, bandaged or not.

“Hm?” Tobias reaches, albeit cautiously.

“...Did I hurt you? When I was chasing you?” He grabs the uninjured hand, a soft action in moment of vulnerability.

“Nah. If this,” he lifts the bandaged palm, “is a lil’ scratch, then that was a love tap. Don’t worry ‘bout it none, Malcolm.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm."

And the silence settles once again, thickening with each passing moment. Tobias’ eyes glow a faint turquoise, and Malcolm finally brings himself to stop and stare, to get lost in the sea that they contained. And in Malcolm’s emerald hues, Tobias sees the beautiful span of nature - a meadow trapped within optics.

“Thanks for comin’ back, Tobias.”

“Thanks fer pullin’ my ass outta th’ water.”

“Tobias,” Malcolm’s voice is stern, as though in warning.

“Mm, ‘course. It hurt t’ leave th’ first time. As if I coul’ do it again. ‘Specially when y’ told me t’ run.”

“Huh?”

“Back when you were chasin’ me, too. Told me not to jump ‘nto th’ water. You were still lookin’ out for me, weren’t ya, hotshot?”

Malcolm falls silent, taking the moment to rub his thumbs over the knuckles of the other. Bullseye.

“’S all right, I won’t tell no one,” the card sharp chuckles, mostly to make light of the situation. He knows where this conversation is headed - and if Lady Luck allows it, he can get it. “So. ‘Bout us.”

“Of course you would.” The warm hand within his own is enough to trigger a reaction of sorts - his heart stammers, cheeks flush at the incoming topic. God forbid this relationship causes years-old feelings to resurface. (Secretly, he knows it will. And damn him, he’s excited.)

“Do we want to try again? Malcolm.” The bandaged hand joins the other, movements lagged and weak, though clearly trying to offer comfort to the gunslinger. “If you need time, I can give it to ya, ‘course.”

Malcolm coughs, entirely out of nervousness, though hands tighten ‘round the other’s. “No, don’t need time. Yeah, let’s give it a go, Tobias. I’ll be watching your back, no matter what.”

“Aw, thanks, darlin’.” Tobias stands from his seat, coming ‘round the table and eaning over to press his lips to the tip of Malcolm’s nose. “And I got yours, as always.”

“The gunslinger yearns for more, though he knows it’s merely Tobias’ teasing. He’ll probably get more tonight - or at least, he hopes he does. “Goin’ to bed? Already?”

“Nah, takin’ a shower. I swear, I can still smell the salt in m’ hair.”

“You should really get that cut.”

The cutpurse chuckles. “Not even for you, sweetheart.”

\- - - - -

Tobias turns on his side gently - so as not to wake Malcolm - and carefully drapes an arm around the other. Years of sleeping around with other men and women were nice, a temporary warmth and comfort, but Tobias had never forgotten what this felt like. It had been so deeply engraved in his memories, in partial fear that he may never experience it again. He hums in content, and he presses his forehead in between Malcolm’s shoulderblades. Malcolm turns to the side - just barely enough to see Tobias in his peripheral vision.

“You all right back there?”

The card sharp pulls himself closer to Malcolm and takes a deep breath in. The distinct scent of the gunslinger is almost enough to reduce him to tears. It’d been so long since they last slept like this, side-by-side and content with reality. Tobias had nearly given up on ever experiencing it again, yet here he is, reliving the moment. Malcolm, despite being unable to see Tobias’ face, is fully aware of how the cardmaster feels - he understands it full well himself - and he instead relishes in the peaceful silence.

“Y’know, Malcolm, I’m startin’ t’ think it ain’t luck that brought us together. Not th’ first time, ‘nd definitely not this time."

Tobias’ voice is hoarse from recently waking up, and Malcolm smiles to himself. (Thank Lady Luck, he’s facing away from Tobias - else he’d never hear the end of it.)

“Hm, lemme guess. It’s destiny?”

“...Ya damn right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm so sorry if this feels a bit rushed - I've been working on this fic off and on, and admittedly end up losing my place because of it. But TF/Graves is admittedly my favorite LoL pairing, so I've been dying to write something for them! If you guys have any prompts or suggestions for them, please shoot them my way! I'd love to write more for them!!


End file.
